The Young Wolf - A Stark AGOT AAR
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I hope the Iron Isles holds out a bit longer too, if only to allow the North some breathing space from Stannis' wild avarice
I nominated you and this story for the WritAAR for the week. So congrats.
Thank you!
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Chapter 21
Chapter 21 - Love's Consequences
Robb
The stars were out in force by the time Robb left the feast in the Great Hall, the Stag Head constellation was so bright that it felt like it was about to crash on top of the city. Perhaps that would be for the best Robb thought grimly as he made his way to the Tower of the Hand. He knew without a doubt what the Westerling Girl meant, and he knew that she didn't come to King's Landing to reminisce. Jeyne and Robb had not parted on happy terms, and he still held her father captive in at Riverrun. Little did Jeyne know that her Lord father was being kept in pleasurable accommodation due to the brief love he had for her.
Whilst he slowly made his way to the Tower of the Hand Robb spotted something perched above Traitor's Walk, it was a spike that was attached to the parting wall that separated outer yard and the inner bailey. As he got closer he slowly started to realise what was on top of it, a head, though who's it was he could not tell. It couldn't have been Joffrey's, his head was still mounted, and no one of low importance would have been given such a spot. Against his better judgement, he got even closer until he was at the base of the spike, and it was then when he suddenly realised who's head it was.
“The Imp...” Robb said out loud as he looked up at the Dwarf's oversized head.
“Yeah...” answered the half drunk Ser Wendel Manderly, who Robb had named as one of his personal guards during his time in King's Landing. “Apparently Stannis ordered all of his prisoners to be 'liquidated'. Some were burned, others had their throats slit, but the Imp had the pleasure of beheading.”
Robb felt a tinge of guilt for Tyrion Lannister's fate if he had chosen to take him North to join his siblings he could have remained alive. Though he was told that the little lord had tried to murder his brother, Robb couldn't help but see that it didn't seem to make sense for him to do it. For what reason would Tyrion Lannister want to kill Bran? More to the point only a fool would give his own dagger to an assassin, and from what Robb had seen and heard Tyrion Lannister was no fool. He also didn't forget his kindness to Bran when he was at his lowest point, it was only with his gift that Robb's little brother began to smile again, why would a murderer do that?
The world had been so simple when Robb was marching down the Kingsroad with his father's banners, it took two years of war for him to realise what ruling meant. Robb's favourite King had been Daeron the First, The Young Dragon who had conquered Dorne at the age of fifteen. Yet he would send tens of thousands to their deaths, and he would eventually lose Dorne and his life. Robb often wondered if the Targaryen boy thought the same when he saw what his ambition had done, or if it only came to him when the Prince of Dorne's men were shoving their daggers into him. The Young Wolf Robb thought with disgust I was no more than a pup.
Lucas Blackwood was sat on a small wooden stool just outside the entrance of the Tower of the Hand when Robb arrived, and when the young knight spotted his liege he sprung to his feet and bowed his head.
“Ah Your Grace, it seems my message did get to you after all,” said the tired Ser Lucas “I was worried that the man I sent got distracted by the pleasures of the feast.”
Ser Lucas was the second son of Lord Tytos of Raventree Hall and was by all accounts an able swordsman. At the behest of the Blackfish, Robb had awarded Lucas for his valour at Harrenhal by making him one of his household guard. It was part of a concerted effort to keep his Riverlander subjects loyal to his cause, for they had suffered the most during the last two years of warfare. Once King's Landing was taken, Robb awarded the lion's share of the booty to the River Lords, a deserved reward in Robb's eyes.
“Your man found me” Robb responded “and he told me who has come.”
Ser Lucas furrowed his brow and scratched his stubble, his confusion clear to see “Your Grace I did not-”
“I do not wish to keep her waited, Ser Lucas. Take me to her.”
The confused Ser Lucas simply bowed his head in acknowledgement. “As you command, Your Grace.”
Whilst ascending the winding stairs of the Tower of the Hand, Robb noticed something he had not seen before, dried up blood stains splattered across the walls. It took him only a moment to realise what they were, bloody proof of Lannister treachery. Everyone in the Stark Household was slaughtered on the day Robb's Father was betrayed, with little distinction between guards and simple servants. Vayon Poole, the faithful steward of Winterfell, was still rotting in the moat of Maegor's Holdfast when Robb took the Keep. Most of his flesh was gone so he was unrecognisable, the only reason they knew who it was him was because of the badge of the Winterfell stewards sown into his breast pocket. His daughter was most assuredly dead as well, despite Sansa claiming she was still alive, though perhaps death would be better. In a city like King's Landing a beautiful lost girl would not stay innocent for long, the brothels of the capital were too hungry for new talent to let someone like Jeyne Poole slip through their grasp.
When they reached the door into the Hand's apartments, Robb stopped and put his hand on Ser Lucas' shoulder. “Thank you, Ser Lucas, I can take it from here.”
Lucas frowned “Your Grace I cannot leave you up here on your own with someone you barely know.”
“It's fine” Robb insisted “I am more than capable to take care of myself.” Robb recognised and appreciated Lucas Blackwood's tenacity, but it was the last thing he needed at that moment. The young knight stood still for a moment before bowing his head and walked down the stairs, the sounds of his chain mail and plate scraping together getting quieter as he descended.
Know on his own Robb slowly walked up to the door and placed his hand on it, allowing the cool timber to touch his bare skin. He had never felt so scared before, his heart was pumped twice as much, his eyes began to feel heavy, and his belly was turning to water. I have charged into battle on horseback, fought knights twice my size, stormed gatehouses burning in wildfire, and have killed one king and crowned myself and another. I thought I knew what it was to be brave...
With a deep breath, Robb pushed the door open, it's rusty hinges causing to creak louder than he had ever noticed. As he slowly walked into the room he noticed a woman standing on a balcony and at looking out across the city.
“Jeyne...” Robb blurted when he finally recognised her.
She slowly turned, her chestnut coloured eyes gleaming in the candlelight. She was as beautiful as the day Robb had met her at the Crag. “Your Grace,” she said as she curtsied.
“No...don't call me that,” Robb said as he rubbed his weary eyes.
“What should I call you then?” Jeyne asked with quiet sincerity.
Robb snapped back. “My name, perhaps?” As soon as he had said it he felt guilty.“Sorry, it has been a long day, I did not come here to argue.”
“Neither did I” answered Jeyne, who was now nervously rubbing her hands together.
After a deep sigh, Robb decided to start anew, making sure to stand upright and look confident. “So, what can I do for you?”
Jeyne sighed “Truth be told Robb, I did not know if I was going to come here. It was only with my husbands urging-”
Robb felt a stab at his heart “Husband?”
A gentle smile developed on Jeyne's face. “You don't think because you took my maidenhead that I would become a spinster did you? I had to move on, just like you.” Robb felt yet another stab as Jeyne's smile faded. “I hear Roslin Frey is a beauty to behold, stories of your divine marriage have already started to become widespread.” While her words sounded sincere and her face showed nothing put beauty, Robb could not help but feel that deep inside she must have had only contempt for him.
“Does your husband treat you well?” Robb faintly asked.
“His father, Lord Steffon Varner, treats me with respect-”
“I wasn't asking about the father.”
“Fredrec...” Jeyne said with resigned weariness. “Well, he is the reason I have come here.” Slowly she walked up to Robb, her emerald dress gently gliding as she walked. “It all started when you left the Crag, I began to feel queasy, and then I recognised that I had stopped my monthly bleeding...” she stopped a few feet from Robb and put her hands on her stomach. “By the time my belly started to swell it was too late, moon tea would have killed me if I had taken it at such a stage...” suddenly Robb felt like a thousand crossbow quarrels were being fired into his chest as he realised what she meant and what he had done. “We have a daughter, Robb, a beautiful little daughter-”
“Where is she?” asked Robb as he tried to process what Jeyne had told him.
“She is at Roseford with a wetnurse, she is being kept well and safe. Lord Varner has promised to treat her as if she was his own.”
“And what about this Fredrec? I doubt he will her to stay when he becomes Lord of Roseford.”
“Luckily he won't, he is the third son, he will likely never inherit.” Jeyne's response seemed confident, though Robb knew that succession law meant nothing if a man was clever enough. Aegon, Robert, Stannis, and even Robb didn't wait for succession laws to make themselves kings, they took it.
Robb's former lover moved up to him and began to stroke his face, and even though he knew he shouldn't let her Robb did not object. “Lysessa has your eyes, you know,” Jeyne said as her soft fingers ran across his stubble. “And your Tully hair too.”
“Lysessa...” Robb said as he thought aloud “Lysessa Snow”
Jeyne corrected him “Flowers.”
Flowers, Sand, Storm, Snow it all means the same Robb thought with guilt I have fathered a bastard, truly father like son after all.
Robb's thoughts turned to how Roslin would react...no not only Roslin but
his mother too. It was no secret that his Lady mother despised Jon and that he had to live with her scorn for his entire life. A wronged wife who could not forgive and forget, and a poor bastard who had done nothing wrong aside from being born illegitimately. Is that the life Robb wanted for Roslin and Lysessa? But he also knew he could not keep his daughter at Roseford with a man who would despise her even more, for a man's honour is considered more than a woman's. This Fredrec would no doubt make Lysessa's life a living hell, especially when his gentle father eventually dies.
“I'll take her to Winterfell” Robb suddenly announced, causing Jeyne to rescind her hand in shock.
“No” she replied, “she is my daughter, I want her to stay with me.”
“But she's a Stark, she belongs in the North.”
Jeyne grimaced. “Is that what your brother felt he was when he was growing up?” Caught out, Robb paused, accidentally revealing all Jeyne needed to now. “I didn't think so.”
“It's unfair on you.”
Tears began to develop in Jeyne's eyes. “You and Roslin will have children together, I will not.”
Robb found himself confused. “But what about your husband-”
Jeyne chuckled as she wiped the tears from her eyes. “I'm not talking about having children with him, Robb.” Slowly Jeyne began to slowly stroke her hands up Robb's arms, and soon Robb found himself doing the same. “I want you to know, however brief it lasted, that I did love you.”
Memories began to fill Robb's head, of the first time he had seen her, to when she nursed his wound he had taken during the storming of her father's castle, all of them crescendoing into the night they finally embraced their feelings and slept with each other. Those few days at the Crag were burnt into his memory, and he found himself remembering why he fell for Jeyne in the first place. It wasn't her beauty or because of his need for sex, it was because of her character. “I loved you too” Robb whispered as pulled her mouth upwards and locked lips with her. For a blessed moment, Robb forgot about his troubles and enjoyed what was happening, all until Jeyne pulled way.”
“No...” she said with a sudden frown “we can't do this.”
Robb was about to complain until he remembered his life, his duties, his wife. “Your right” Robb replied, “Roslin and Fredrec do not deserve this.”
“It's not about what they deserve” Jeyne corrected “it's about being realistic. We could never be lovers again, and it is important that we are not.”
It was clear she had grown, just like Robb. She knew what the real world was like now, what people expected of you. Walder Frey would not take a slight against Roslin well, and never would her hordes of siblings, cousins, and other distant relatives. But that didn't mean Robb had to forsake Jeyne and Lysessa completely.
“I will not leave you empty-handed. I will send you an annual payment to ensure our daughter is brought up without wanting for anything, I will even send some tribute to your father-in-law to keep him happy and quiet.”
Jeyne let out a faint smile of gratitude “thank you.”
With a quick nod, Jeyne went for the door and opened it, but before she left she turned around. “I will write to you every now and then, about her. She will know her father is an honourable man.” With a final smile, Jeyne descended the stairs, leaving Robb on his own in the apartment. Ten minutes later he too descended down the stairs, only to be intercepted by Ser Lucas and one his men.
“There you are, Your Grace,” said Lucas “we were getting worried.”
“I'm fine Ser Lucas, thanks for asking.”
Lucas frowned “you were gone for a long time, and when I saw the woman leaving before you I feared-”
“It's okay” Robb insisted with a smile “the worst danger up there were the flames on the candles, nothing more.”
“Renly thought the same thing,” said Ser Lucas with sadness “yet he was stabbed in his own tent surrounded by some of the best fighters in Westeros.” Lucas had accompanied Robb's mother to treat with Renly at Storm's End, and he was witness to the chaos his death caused.
“I am flattered by your concern, but it is not needed. Though your skills as a messenger are. Go to our army encamped outside the city and tell Lords Umber, Bolton, and Karstark to prepare their men to leave at dawn. Tomorrow we go home, and leave this infernal city behind.”
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Lord Frey won't say anything... he will have his grandson, the King in the North... but Roslin... she will surely make such a fuzz about that little girl..
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Yes, Starks never do well staying in King's Landing for too long. Better go back to where they more properly belong.
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I mean Walder Frey has so many bastards of his own that he would be a massive hypocrite if he was insulted. Though knowing Lord Frey...
Robb has kinda lucked out in the whole "Starks melt south of the Neck" deal. Still it's a long trek to the North, anything could happen.
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I don't remember Roslin being enough of a personality to 'do' anything about a bastard interrupting their marraige. As I recall, Roslin didn't even get a say in her wedding - though I take it the attitude of the Freys and the fates of her husband has changed somewhat...!
Having said that, my takeaway from the books was that Jenye Westerling might've been pushed into seducing Robb by her ambitious mother, and was herself actually quite quiet and meek anyway... so who knows. Characters change in the transition from the book to the AAR.
Having said that, my takeaway from the books was that Jenye Westerling might've been pushed into seducing Robb by her ambitious mother, and was herself actually quite quiet and meek anyway... so who knows. Characters change in the transition from the book to the AAR.
THIS I have to agree with! Get out of there Robb! Leave that spiky chair and head up North! It's colder, yes, but far more welcoming I think.
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I mean it's all from Robb's perspective really, he doesn't know what Roslin is going to do. The only reference point he has is his mother, who we all know hated Jon Snow and resented his very existence. I also will admit this, I found Jeyne to be quite a hard character to write because I wasn't quite sure if I was going to stay true to the books or the mod itself, which gives Jeyne a modifier that makes her love Robb (at least in the version I'm playing.) I will say that the whole Spicer plot stuff was something I forgot about, and probably would have mentioned if I remembered.
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Chapter 22
Chapter 22 - The Golden Night
Bran
“They are here!” shouted the ethereal young knight as he ran across a red brick hallway “they have gotten into the city!”
A tall but hunched spectre dressed in black and red robes and adorned with a green-flame halo above his head turned, his gaunt face filled with spite “I want him dead, the traitor. I want his head, you'll bring me his head, or you will burn with the rest. All the traitors.” As the knight froze with terror, the spectre turned to a hooded man next to him “the traitors want my city, but I'll give them nought but ashes. Let Robert be king over charred bones and cooked meat.”
The hooded man bent low and scurried off, only to be followed by the knight. The spectre began to pace wildly, his hands a gibbering mass of long-nailed fingers scarred and scabbed. “Traitors” he muttered “traitors, traitors, traitors...” His mumbling was interrupted when the knight suddenly re-entered the room, only this time his once pristine white armour was cloaked in crimson. “Who's blood is that?” the spectre squawked.
“Rossart's” the knight calmly replied.
In a fit of terror, the spectre scrambled up the stairs towards a throne, only to have his long white hair be pulled back by the knight, causing him to tumble to the floor.
“Burn them all!” screamed the spectre as the knight restrained him onto the ground “burn them all!” Through his wriggling the spectre escaped the knight's grasp, only to be stabbed by a sword in the back. As he tumbled to the ground his orders did not change “burn them all!”. The knight, whose armour was now fully covered in blood, stood above the wounded spectre and slowly lowered his blade to his enemy's neck. “Burn them a-” a sudden slash to the neck silenced the spectre, and with a final gasp of air his green-flame halo sputtered out.
His work done, the knight approached the throne and slowly ascended it's steps, with each step causing more swords to grow out of the sides. Once he reached the seat itself he sighed and lowered himself on to it, causing torrents of blood to flow down the throne's steps. A blast of icy wind blew out all of the torches in the hall, and the blood began to freeze over. Steeds of rotting flesh and splintered bone smashed through the great stain glass windows, and upon them were sat the pale visages of four kings, one dressed in Northern furs and a sword crown, one dressed in rusted armour with crown of warped wood, one dressed Shadowcat skins and a lute at his side, and one dressed in a southron doublet and brass circlet sculpted into flames. All four began to trample on the spectre's corpse, causing it to disperse into dust. Once they were finished they drew their swords and pointed them towards the seated knight. The knight, unperturbed by the cadavers in front of him, clicked his fingers, causing his bloodstained armour to transform into simple black leather armour.
“Hodor!” the shout of Bran's hulking man-servant awoke him from his intense dream. Once the initial shock wore off he realised he had a sheen of sweat across his brow, from the strewn nature of his bed sheets it appeared he had been tossing and turning all night. “Hodor?” said Hodor as Bran stared at his bed.
“It's okay Hodor, I was just dreaming” Bran's answer didn't seem to calm the stable-boy.
Out of nowhere, Osha appeared from the other side of the room. “He's not here about your dreams, little lord. Maester Luwin has need of you in the yard.”
Bran looked at the dawning sun shining through one of the windows with annoyance “it's barely past dawn, can't it wait for another hour or so?”
Osha shook her head. “No m'lord, it can't. You are the Lord of Winterfell and heir to the North, you are in charge while your brother is gone.”
Bran wanted to reply that he did not want to be a Lord or King, he did not want to rule kingdoms and judge the matters of nobles of smallfolk alike, all he wanted was to live again like he was before the fall. He would happily trade his status and family name for the ability to climb and run once more. Yet even the maesters of the citadel or the spellbinders of Asshai could do that, not even the Valyrians could master the art of regrowing limbs or curing paralysis according to Luwin. Though Luwin's facts were coming into question as of late, Manderly knights from White Harbour say that merchants from the Free Cities and beyond claim that Dragons live once again and that the last of the Targaryens, Daenerys Stormborn, commands them in battle. The men in the feast hall found it funny at first, that was until a story was repeated hundreds of times by Ibbenese whalers, Braavosi spice merchants, and Lyseni silk traders. The news was that Lys, Tyrosh, Volantis, and Myr had united to oust her from Slaver's Bay. If dragons could live once more, why couldn't Bran walk again?
Eventually, Bran, Hodor, and Osha made their way down to the courtyard, arriving just in time to see the prisoners be brought up from the Winterfell dungeons. There were all kinds of criminal on display, thieves, rapists, and murderers as well as Ironborn prisoners of war. They were there for one reason, to be sent to man the Wall as members of the Night's Watch. It wasn't just Winterfell that was clearing out its dungeons either, holdfasts all across the North were emptying out their prisons and carting them off to the Wall.
“Fodder for the Wall,” said Big Walder as he watched the wretches from the small dais erected in the yard “most of them will not survive most likely.”
Little Walder, who was sat next to his cousin, sniggered like a hog “You speak like you know of war! The only experience you have is when you saw my father hang two brigands.”
“Some of us read and have common sense” Big Walder replied calmly “though I know how much you hate them both”. Before Little Walder could react, Big Walder noticed Bran and Hodor approaching. “My lord it seems you have arrived in time to see our brave lads leave for the Wall.” The two Walders were never good company for long stretches of time, they would both either end up arguing with Bran or with each other, normally about the inheritance of the Twins. Bran was barely able to keep his laughter hidden when Meera pointed out that pigs would have to fly before either of them could inherit Lord Frey's castle, there were just too many Freys between their grandfather and them.
“Is this all of them?” asked Bran as Hodor lowered him onto the dais.
Big Walder nodded “by the looks of it yes, from those imprisoned yesterday to those who have to linger in the dungeons for decades.” The Frey squinted his sly eyes, his face portraying a man twice his age “I doubt most of them will survive.”
“Probably not” Osha responded, her face grim and her eyes suspicious “if it isn't Mance and his army that gets them then it will be the cold. Or those who bring the cold...”
Little Walder looked up at Osha, his double chin bulging to twice it's normal size “You spinning your wildling tales again?” Seeing a potential fight out of all this, Bran gave Osha a stern look and she backed down, leaving Little Walder without any provocation. “Our boys will batter those wildling bastards! Uncle Perwyn and Aunt Ros- I mean the Queen – ride with the army, what surer indication of victory is there?”
Big Walder shook his head “The Queen and Perwyn will be sitting behind the safety of the Wall in Castle Black whilst the army marches Beyond the Wall, I doubt even the Northerners will allow a Queen to enter battle.”
“You never know,” said a voice from behind them “Queen's Visenya and Rhaenys fought with their brother to conquer the Seven Kingdoms.” The voice turned out to belong to Maester Luwin “sorry I am late, I had a meeting with Lord Manderly that lasted longer than expected.” Lord Lamprey probably tried to make a meal out of it, it would only take a small meeting for a Manderly to turn it into a feast.
“Is this all of the prisoners from the Winterfell dungeons?” asked Bran.
“All of them but one, we have kept Jaime Lannister in his cell for the time being. Your brother may need a prisoner of his value in the future.” For months Bran has tried to work up the courage to go down and speak to the Kingslayer if only to see why he had tried to murder his father in the streets of King's Landing. With the prisoners being moved to the Wall and with Robb now victorious and probably on his way back, it was now or never.
Bran beckoned to his man-servant “Hodor, come here.” The large fool dutifully strode over to his master and picked him with one hand, allowing Bran to sit on the mount on Hodor's back.
“Where are you going?” asked a confused Maester Luwin.
“I'm going to pay our prisoner a visit.”
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The dungeon was thick with the stench of the filth of humanity, and even in their absence, the aroma of rotting prisoners was still strong. Hodor's thudding footsteps echoed off the walls, and in the distance, chains were rattling.
“It seems I am not forgotten!” shouted a man from a distant cell “I originally thought you Northmen couldn't count!” The arrogance in the man's voice was familiar but also elusive to Bran, as if he had heard it a thousand times and then not at all. When Hodor and Bran finally reached the cell they were greeted with a sorry sight, the man's clothes were caked in filth, his hair brown and black from dirt and grease, his lips dry and cracked and black. Bran could scarcely believe that he was staring at Jaime Lannister, the handsome rogue who charmed ladies and beguiled his foes.
“Hodor...” said Hodor solemnly as he rarely looked at the fallen knight.
The Kingslayer lifted his head up “ah they send a simpleton and a...” his eyes squinted as looked at Bran, and it took him a few seconds to realise who it was. “Brandon Stark...” he murmured as he looked at Bran with astonishment.
“You know me?”
“Yes I was guarding King Robert during his visit
here, don't you remember?”
Bran strained his mind as he tried to remember, but all he got back was the blackness of the night. “I don't remember anything about those days.”
The Kingslayer's eyes widened as he realised why Bran could not remember. “Oh yes, your fall...” Suddenly he broke eye contact and began to shuffle about in his tatty robes “So you do not know how it happened?”
Every Lannister who ever lived was a suspect in Bran's fall and attempted murder, but it was the siblings of Tywin Lannister that were always at the top of the list. “No, but my brother has his suspicions.”
The Kingslayer rolled his eyes and chuckled “I bet he does. You Stark's always know how to judge right from wrong don't you? You have a penchant for knowing who is guilty and who is innocent.” His bitter words revealed what over a year of imprisonment had done to him, though there was no doubt in Bran's mind that it stemmed back to something long ago.
Cawing from one of the small windows into the dungeon alerted Bran to the presence of a crow pecking at the rusty bars. After a few pecks, it looked towards the Kingslayer “King Crow! King Crow! King Crow!”. When Bran turned back to Jaime Lannister his tattered robes began to glow gold, his matted hair igniting in gold flame. It lasted just for a moment before dying down, the crow pecked once more and left.
I know what I must do Bran thought as he processed what had just happened I know what the dream meant!
“Do you want to remain down here?” asked Bran
The Kingslayer squinted his eyes in confusion “What?”
“Do you want to stay in your cell?”
“Of course not, but I have no choice.”
Bran smiled “Yes you do.”
The confused Kingslayer sat up and placed his hands on the bars of his cell “What are you talking about?”
“The Wall is under attack and it needs fighters, not murderers and thieves. If you are even half as good as the stories say, you will be of great value to the Night's Watch.”
The Kingslayer laughed “What makes you think I want to freeze to death at the edge of the world?”
“If you are still here when my brother arrives I doubt you will be given the same choice, the whole North wants your head, I'm offering you a way to keep it.”
“Joffrey gave your father the same choice, and then took his head anyway. How am I supposed to trust you not to do the same?”
Bran shrugged “I cannot prove to you that I won't, but it's the only choice you've got.” The Kingslayer remained silent, his eyes revealing his suspicion. To try and motivate him, Bran decided to target one of the weaknesses of House Lannister. Pride. “Would you rather die with a sword in your hand and knee deep in bodies or freeze in a dungeon with nothing but the rats for company?”
The Kingslayer stroked his greasy beard and smiled “You are remarkably well spoken for a boy.” Slowly raising himself onto his feet, the Kingslayer stood tall and proud for the first time since he had been at Winterfell. “I'll take your offer then, I will join the Night's Watch and fight until some bastard eventually puts an end to me.” The Kingslayer began to chuckle to himself “if Tyrion was here he would be laughing right now.”
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More than he deserved. Or not.
I actually don't know if I can picture Jaime choosing the black. I can imagine him laughing off the vows, never taking it seriously, and always getting shit from pretty much everyone for being a slacker in black.
I mean, he's the Kingslayer! He's broken every vow he's ever made! Why trust him now to the black? Yeah I think he'd be hated as the shittiest nights watchman in history!
Until he sees an Other. Then he'd become Lord Commander material. Or at least First Ranger.
Yeah... yeah I can see that. That's an awesome direction to go.
Keep us informed of his life on the wall! He'll either be murdered by a fellow brother, or actually take to an honest life for once.
I actually don't know if I can picture Jaime choosing the black. I can imagine him laughing off the vows, never taking it seriously, and always getting shit from pretty much everyone for being a slacker in black.
I mean, he's the Kingslayer! He's broken every vow he's ever made! Why trust him now to the black? Yeah I think he'd be hated as the shittiest nights watchman in history!
Until he sees an Other. Then he'd become Lord Commander material. Or at least First Ranger.
Yeah... yeah I can see that. That's an awesome direction to go.
Keep us informed of his life on the wall! He'll either be murdered by a fellow brother, or actually take to an honest life for once.
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I think Jaime will be put to good use in the Watch. Who knows? He might even make it to Lord Commander once more.
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Could be worse yeah, in fact I seem to remember a Northern Lord who was promised his head...
Oh don't worry, we have not seen the last of the Kingslayer.
It would be fitting if he manages to rise to the rank of Lord Commander. In with a white cloak he served only himself, with a black cloak he serves the realm.
I think so too. I just hope he doesn't piss off Lord Commander Mormont too much
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Chapter 23
Chapter 23 - The Looming Threat
Roslin
The Common Hall of Castle Black was brimming with activity when Roslin and Sarra arrived, so full of people was it that the biting cold of the outdoors seemed to melt away due to the sheer amount of human bodies within the room. The first six rows of tables were taken by the men of the Night's Watch, with the remaining three being reserved for Roslin and her Northern Lords. In any other hall, she would be sat on the dais with the Lord of the castle, but this was the Night's Watch, and they bowed to no monarch. As Roslin and Sarra shuffled towards their seats, the tired and frozen watchman lazily bowed their heads, their eyes fixated on the floor, or as Sarra claimed, their breasts. It was no secret that the men of the Watch were not all as gallant as Jon Snow, many of them were rapers and murderers who would happily have their way with Roslin and Sarra if they were able to. Luckily they couldn't, lest they want to be thrown off the Wall.
After Roslin had sat down on the hard wooden chair reserved for her, the Northern Lord's made their entrance. Among them were Galbart Glover, Torren Liddle, Rodrik Ryswell, Gregor Forrester, Donnel Locke, Maege Mormont, and Robin Flint. The two who decided to sit next to Roslin though were Winterfell's dutiful master-at-arms Rodrik Cassel and Howland Reed, the man who had defended the North against the Ironborn. The crannogman lord had always struck Roslin as odd, his small stature and unassuming attire that bordered on commoners robes hid both Lord Reed's noble heritage and prowess in battle. It was known that he had fought with Ned Stark against three remaining members of the Aerys' Kingsguard, and Robb even claimed that he had saved his father's life.
“He's late” Ser Rodrik Cassel growled as he stroked his long whiskers, “I told him that I expected him to be here when I arrived.”
“Who's this you are talking about?” asked Sarra, who had begun to gently braid her hair.
“That vicious bastard, Ramsay Sno- I mean Bolton.” Rodrik scowled and his stroking intensified “the Gods only know why Robb decided to legitimise that rabid dog.”
His tone worried Roslin, she did not want any infighting between the Northern army at such a crucial moment. “What did he do to merit such anger?” Roslin asked.
“If you had seen what I had seen, Your Grace, you would have had input in the stocks.”
Sarra chuckled “I believe you assume too much, Ser Rodrik. Queen Roslin is a merciful queen, especially to those she likes...”
Roslin knew what Sarra was assuming, the shock of her bawdy humour and near nymphomaniacal appetite for pleasure had begun to dull. Besides Ramsay Bolton would be the last person Roslin would be interested in, for he was not just physically ugly but morally and spiritually as well. It was said that he had a penchant for torture and that many young common girls had met their end in the Dreadfort's dungeons at his hand. In the brief encounters Roslin had with him he portrayed none of his father's wits or subtlety, with the only thing confirming him as Lord Roose's son being the strange pallidness of his skin and eyes.
“He was only a boy” Rodrik spat as he stared into the middle distance “that didn't matter to the bastard, nor did the boy's screams dissuade Ramsay from peeling his skin.”
Roslin felt her stomach turn as she imagined the fate of the boy “he...flayed the boy?”
The enraged knight nodded “he currently let's one of his 'Bastard Boys' wear it as a cloak.”
“I thought flaying was outlawed.”
“Only under the rule of the Iron Throne, which we are obviously no longer a part of.” Rodrik began to rub his forehead with frustration “hopefully this wilding invasion will take care of him.”
From the other end of the hall they spotted Ramsay Bolton enter, his pale cheeks slightly red from the cold. As he sauntered to the benches designated to the Northern lords, Roslin leant towards Rodrik.
“You should be more careful” whispered Roslin “that bastard will be Lord of the Dreadfort one day, and all of his father's men will be his.”
Before Rodrik could answer the went quiet as Lord Commander Mormont entered the room, his giant sweeping cloak wafting the lit candles. All stood to attention save the elderly maester of Castle Black and Roslin, who as Queen was seen to be above Mormont in rank. When he sat so did the rest of the room and all awaited the Lord Commander's words.
“I have a few announcements to give before I tell you why I have assembled you all here. First, it is by the command of Robb Stark, King of the North and the Trident, that all criminals found within the dungeons of the holdfasts of the North are to be sent to us to man the Wall. As we know we are stretched thin, and any extra manpower is welcome. I would personally like to thank His Grace for this most welcome news.” Roslin knew the idea was not Robb's but hers, though she did not mind seeing her husband get the credit, it would only help strengthen his rule.
The Lord Commander continued “we have also received word that King Stannis of the Iron Throne is sending supplies from the south to us, including weapons, food, and mounts. I have already received word from Cotter Pyke that the first supply ships have arrived at Eastwatch.” A wave of pleased murmurings filled the room, their hopes for southern fine wines clear on their faces.
“Now onto the reason why I have summoned you,” Mormont said with a grave tone “we have received word that Mance Rayder is less than two days ride from the Wall, which puts more pressure on our position. We had assumed it would take him weeks to get through the snowstorms but it seems his wildling army is as desperate as he is. As you all know we the plan was to ride out and meet him in a week's time, I propose that we ride tonight.”Both the Night's Watchmen and the Northern Lords looked at each other with concern, and some of them seem downright angry.
“We do not have the supplies” insisted an elderly watchman “if we march north we will be starved within days.”
Lord Robin Flint, the head of the Northern Army's supply train, stood and spoke up. “We have enough provisions for a few weeks, no more. If we fight the wildlings it must be a quick and decisive victory.”
“I concur,” said Lord Rodrik Ryswell “we must smash them quickly and then return south.”
“The wildlings don't fight like us,” said a watchman on the Lord Commander's dais “if they spot your army they will run into the Haunted Forest and draw you in. Then they will pick you off until the cold kills you.”
“Ser Alliser speaks the truth of it,” said the elderly maester “though sitting on the Wall cannot be our only option.”
“Why not,” said a voice from the crowd.
Ser Alliser nodded “The Wall is designed to defend not attack, we will be safe here.” A wave of mumbling agreement emanated from the crowd of Night's Watchmen, though the same sentiment wasn't shared with the Northern Lords.
“We cannot wait here forever” shouted Lord Glover “we have our lands to attend to, what meagre harvest we have needs to be collected for winter is coming.”
The Lord Commander looked over to Lord Glover “so what do you propose, my lord?”
“We attack”
Mormont sighed “haven't you heard a word we have said, it is impossible.”
“No,” said a voice that was almost to quiet to hear “it is not impossible.” For a moment people looked around for the origin of the voice, and soon they were given an answer. “We can defeat them tomorrow,” Lord Howland said as he stood up.
Ser Alliser squinted at the small crannogman “what do you propose then, my lord?” he said with an almost mocking tone.
“The gate at Castle Black is not the only path to the other side of the Wall, no?”
“The only other entrances are at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea and the Shadow Tower, the rest have been filled in.”
“I suggest we split our horse and send them to Eastwatch, where they will travel across the Wall.” Commotion filled the room as everyone in the room, Roslin included, were shocked by Lord Howland's proposal.
“It would take days,” Ser Alliser said in disbelief “perhaps even weeks for them to travel that far.”
Howland nodded “Yes it would.”
“Then how do you propose we defeat Mance's army in the meantime?”
“We hold the Wall and stand our ground until they arrive, then we strike out and catch the wildlings between out two forces.” His plan seemed not just audacious, but downright risky. A thousand things could disrupt the horse from arriving on time, and that would something they lacked.
The commotion in the room finally ended when the Lord Commander stood up, his eyes staring straight at Howland “Your plan is fraught with risk, is at the mercy of the elements, and requires those who stay at Castle Black to fight with the strength of a thousand men. And yet I feel it may be our best choice in the absence of reasonable ones. My only question is this, who will lead this force?”
“I will” answered Lord Howland, whose words echoed around the hall.
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It had taken a few hours for Lord Howland Reed's cavalry component to be assembled outside Castle Black, and the sounds of braying horses and clacking horse hooves filled the air. Roslin had been giving her blessings to the lords who were joining Lord Howland on his expedition, among them being Robin Flint, Galbart Glover, and Donnel Locke, the only anointed knight among them. As she watched them saddle their horses Roslin heard the sounds of footsteps behind her. Slowly a giant white wolf walked in front of her, it's blood red eyes shining in the winter sun.
“Grey Wind?” Roslin whispered with confusion as she looked into the wolf's eyes. No not Grey Wind she realised who...
“Ghost!” called out a familiar voice “Ghost come to me!”
As Roslin followed the wolf she saw Jon Snow, who was stood next to an elderly member of the Watch. The white wolf began to nip at Jon's fingers, revealing that he too had
a direwolf “Ah Jon, what can I do for you?”
“Nothing, Your Grace, accept...” Roslin's brother-in-law unsheathed his sword from his scabbard and laid it out in front of her and instantly she knew it's worth.
“Valyrian Steel...”
Jon Snow nodded “yes, Your Grace. It was gifted to me by the Lord Commander when I saved his life from...well let's just say I saved his life.”
The old man next to Jon chuckled “just tell Her Grace what you want, Lord Snow.”
Jon scowled at his compatriot before looking back at Roslin “in the event of my death I would request that you give this sword to Robb, after which he can do with it as he sees fit.”
Gently Roslin stroked the tang of the blade and could feel the cool edge of the blade through the thick leather gloves “of course I will, Jon, but I'm sure you'll be safe behind the Wall.”
The old man laughed once again “he hasn't told you, has he?”
“Told me what?”
“We are joining Lord Reed on his expedition, by orders of the Lord Commander.”
Jon let out an annoyed sigh “Qhorin I was about to tell her.”
“Well, you were taking your sweet time, Snow.” When the man noticed Roslin's confusion, he bowed to one knee “where are my manner's, Your Grace. I am Qhorin, ranger of the Night's Watch. Men call me Halfhand on account of my...well” almost jolly, Qhorin removed his glove on his right hand and revealed that he only had a thumb and forefinger on said hand. “Not an inventive nickname I know, though I suppose it's better than nothing.” When the aged warrior noticed Roslin grimacing, he quickly slid his hand back into the glove and slapped Jon on the back “we better get going Snow, before Lord Reed leaves without us. It was a pleasure meeting you, Your Grace.” With a quick bow, Qhorin was gone, leaving Roslin and Jon on their own.
“Well he was certainly interesting,” said Roslin as she tried to fill the silence “it seems you will be with good company.”
Jon sighed and sheathed his sword “yes, I look forward to the next few weeks with him. I am sure it will peaceful and uneventful.”
“Let's hope they are” Roslin replied, “just be careful out their, alright?”
Jon smiled “I will Your Grace.” Whilst he lacked the Tully looks of his elder brother, Jon's smile was eerily close to Robb's, accompanied with the same sad eyes all Stark's seemed to possess. Even Bran and Rickon seemed to brood from time to time, with only their direwolf's as their companions. With so much Robb in him, she felt an attachment to Jon Snow, though it was more sisterly than romantic in nature.
Reaching into her overcoat, Roslin produced a pale blue ribbon and held it out to Jon “I wish you good luck in the wars to come. You may have my favour.”
“Thank you, Your Grace, though I am not sure how I have earned the honour-”
“You are a Stark, Jon. You may be a bastard but you have my husband's blood running through your veins. So long as you are his brother, you are mine as well.”
His cheeks blushing, Jon wrapped the ribbon around the hilt of his sword. “I will wear it into battle proudly, Your Grace.”
Roslin smiled proudly and looked up at the top of the Wall “I will pray for you when battle commences, I will pray as I watch you and Lord Howland cut down the wildling invaders.”
“It is not safe for you here, Your Grace. You should retreat to the safety of the Last Hearth or Karhold until the fighting is done.”
Roslin looked Jon Snow in the eyes defiantly “I may have been born a Frey and raised in the south, but I am that girl no longer. I am Queen Roslin Stark of the North, and in the absence of my husband, I will protect this land with the last drop of my blood, as any true King or Queen would. If Mance Rayder wants the crown of the North, he will have to pluck it from my cold dead fingers...”
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And considering the track record of comparatively wholesome characters in the Game of Thrones universe (especially Shireen
) , her end will be particularly saddening.- 1
Bold of Howland to lead this force though, methinks he might run afoul on the Others, old gods preserve that man and those with him
And I concur, Roslin is too good for a crapsack world like ASOIAF, hope she lives through it all.
And I concur, Roslin is too good for a crapsack world like ASOIAF, hope she lives through it all.
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I love ASOIAF universe, read all the books and Robb was my favourite character from the start! I really like the way you characterized him, keep going.
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And considering the track record of comparatively wholesome characters in the Game of Thrones universe (especially Shireen
I don't know what you're talking about, Westeros is a wholesome place of peace and wonder...
Bold of Howland to lead this force though, methinks he might run afoul on the Others, old gods preserve that man and those with him
Beyond the Wall holds all sorts of dangers, lets hope Howland's natural crannogman talent and Qhorin's ranger expertise can help them.
I love ASOIAF universe, read all the books and Robb was my favourite character from the start! I really like the way you characterized him, keep going.
Thank you for the support, it is really appreciated!
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